


Caught in the Web

by taybow48



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Castiel, Chippewa, Destiel - Freeform, Destiel Fluff, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Dreams, Fallen Castiel, Fingerfucking, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Hell, Human Castiel, M/M, Nightmares, Smut, Top Dean, Torture, Wendigo, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, cas - Freeform, destiel smut, domestic kind of, dream catchers, mature - Freeform, otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:04:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taybow48/pseuds/taybow48
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knows Castiel is having nightmares, but they seem to be getting more frequent.  While on a hunt, Dean discovers something that may help Cas sleep at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught in the Web

Castiel had been having nightmares for weeks: the excruciating pain in the moment his grace was ripped from his body and watching the angels fall because of his naivety and his eagerness to amend Heaven. But there was one recurring terror that caused him to dislodge the blankets and pillows surrounding him, then, jolt awake in a cold sweat. Each time, he would run a hand through his hair and take a deep breath to calm himself before Cas would fall back into a restless sleep. 

He never mentioned his fears to anyone, especially not to Dean. 

\--

“Morning, sunshines!” Dean announced to the breakfast table.

The smell of pancakes and bacon had drifted throughout the Bunker, and within seconds, Kevin, Sam, and Cas had entered the kitchen hopeful for another homemade breakfast. Sam and Kevin took a seat in their familiar chairs while Cas started a pot of coffee. 

“Don’t forget to use a coffee filter this time, Cas,” Sam willed politely. Then, he redirected his conversation to Kevin. “How is the angel tablet reading?”

His eyes were tired. “It’s going. I’m currently translating Metatron’s scribbles into cuneiform. Then, we’re going to have to decode that, hopefully into English, so we can put the angels back to normal.”

As Dean flipped another pancake on the stove, he tried to ignore Cas’ tense shoulders at the mention of Metatron and the fallen angels. On top of that, Dean pushed down the urge to ask about the continuing sobs and screams that muffled through the thin bunker walls at night. At first, Dean thought Cas was just exploring his human body, but after a couple weeks, he recognized the cries as reactions to bad dreams. Truthfully, he considered crawling into bed with Cas to comfort him like he did with Sam when he was younger. But he’d been afraid of over stepping his boundaries with Castiel.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of dripping water. He smiled at the reassurance that Cas was learning to use the coffee machine correctly—finally—after weeks of textured coffee overflowing from the kitchen appliance. Dean turned to look at Cas. He was still disheveled from sleep: his eyes drooping and his hair sticking up like he’d been running his hands through it. Leisurely, Cas stood on his tiptoes to put the coffee filters where they belonged. The hem of his t-shirt rose to reveal the sharp incise of his hipbone. 

Dean coughed to clear his head. “Do you want chocolate chips in your pancakes today, Cas? You look like you didn’t sleep so well.”

“Yes, please. And I slept fine, Dean,” Cas murmured as he stole away to join Sam and Kevin’s conversation. 

A few minutes later, they all sat down with steaming coffee and fresh breakfast. 

“So, I found a case in Michigan,” Sam said between large bites. “From what I’ve heard, it seems like we are looking at a Wendigo. Missing persons. Deep in the woods. Apparently extremely fast.”

“Awesome,” Dean replied setting his fork on his plate. “Well, we will head out after breakfast. Cas, Kevin, you both stay at the bunker on this one. Crack the angel tablet. We’ll call if we need anything.”

After doing the dishes, Dean began tossing underwear and shirts in a bag. From the corner of his eyes, Dean noted that Cas had snuck over to lean heavily against his bedroom door.

“I should come with you,” Cas stated.

Dean sighed. “No, Cas.”

“Why not? I am useful, Dean. I’m not just a baby in a trench coat.”

Wincing at his past words, Dean leveled. “I know you are useful, but you’re still new to being human. You’re not coming.”

He felt Castiel’s glare on his back before he sauntered down the hall towards his own bedroom. In truth, Dean was worried that Cas wasn’t getting enough sleep. And he couldn’t stand the thought of losing Cas if he slipped up on a hunt.

\--

It had only been a couple days, drive and all, to hunt down the Wendigo and burn it to a crispy flame. Sam and Dean arrived at their motel room for one last night before returning to the bunker. 

Dean toed his boots off and collapsed onto the uncomfortable bed. Then, he heard Sam start the water for a bath. Sighing, Dean rolled onto his back as he longed for his memory foam mattress.

A twinkle from above the bedpost caught his eye. He turned and looked at the brown ring with little white feathers hanging from clear threads. Gingerly, he stroked the downy feathers and observed the dream catcher. His cellphone beeped desperately from the nightstand, and he eyed the message that popped onto the screen.

CAS: Are you safe?

DEAN: Yeah. We’ll be home tomorrow.

Heaving himself from the bed, Dean grabbed the room key and toed back into his boots.

“Sam! I’m going to get some pie!” Dean shouted above the running water. 

It was late afternoon, and Dean knew the café next door had a display of multiple pies in their windowpane. He pushed the door open and a bell signaled Dean’s entry.

The walls were light brown and held multiple frames of sketches and old photographs of Native Americans, teepees, and other western themes. 

A deep, wise voice joined Dean’s falling footsteps. “Let me guess. Pie?”

Dean’s lips broke into a smile. “Yes, sir. That easy to tell, huh?”

The man behind the counter was obviously of native descent. He had long, dark hair and a crinkled face that surrounded beady eyes. “What’ll it be, son?”

“Uh, a pecan and cherry pie to go,” Dean responded with a smile. Hopefully, Cas would be less troubled if he brought home his favorite flavors. 

The old man turned to box up the pies when Dean noticed the feathers. On the wall behind the cash register, a black dream catcher hung innocently. Dean inhaled quickly.

“What’s wrong with you, boy? You okay?”

“Yeah, uh, what’s up with all these dream catchers around here? Are they some kind of good luck charm?” Dean asked. 

“Well, a long time ago, the Chippewa tribe lived in these parts, and the dream catcher was a popular defense against negative thoughts and dreams,” the man explained. 

“Chippewa, as in, the Wendigo legend, Chippewa?”

“Son, if you know the Wendigo legend better than the Dream Catcher legend, that says a lot about you,” the Indian chuckled as he finished boxing the pies. “But yes, same tribe.”

Dean stammered. “So what does the thing do? Look pretty?”

The man pulled the dream catcher off the wall and laid it out for Dean to observe. “The Dream Catcher has many parts. The crossing strings are the spider’s web and the bead is the spider. The small opening in the center allows only good dreams to pass through, and the nightmares get caught in the spider’s web and vanish when the sun rises in the morning.”

“What do the feathers mean?”

“Well, it’s said that the feathers hang above the dreamer’s head and act as a waterfall of good energies,” the storyteller continued. 

“And do these things actually work?” Dean whispered. 

“Well, in my experience, they only work if the dreamer, or a loved one, creates the dream catcher themselves. Otherwise, the nightmares can still pass through.”

Dean nodded tersely. “Thank you.” He laid down some cash, grabbed his pies, and headed to the Impala parked near the forest line. 

Back in the room, Dean packed his and Sam’s belongings. 

“We are heading back tonight,” Dean announced. “And you’re driving.”

Baffled, Sam started to question him, but then decided against it. Within a few minutes, they were pulling out of the motel, and making the twelve-hour drive back to Lebanon, Kansas. 

“What are you doing?” Sam asked as Dean unrolled a towel of random items. 

“I’m making something. Stop being nosy,” Dean retorted. On the fabric draping over his lap, Dean began to sort through a pile of strings, shells, and small vines. He gently placed a velvet drawstring pouch beside him on the bench seat.

His fingers began fumbling through the thin vines encouraging them to take the shape of a circle. He tied parts together to keep the twisted vines stable and began lacing the threads like a spider’s web. Normally, he would have given up after the threads fell loose or when the vines stuck splinters into his calloused hands, but this was important to him. Because Cas was important to him.

Hours later, when the top half of the dream catcher was to Dean’s satisfaction, he reached for the silky, black pouch. The contents fell into his lap and he began stringing and tying everything together. 

Sam eyed the bag and his eyes widened in recognition. “Is that—?” 

Dean nodded quickly. “Yeah.”

\--

He was shivering, but he was hot. So hot. The flames licked at his skin and burnt through his paper wings, but he kept pushing forward. 

Thick, dark red hooks hung from above—dripping evidence of torture. He could hear the hounds upon him and the laughter of cursed souls around him. Jovial in his failure.

 _MOVE_ , Cas told his body, but in this realm, he had no control of his limbs. He couldn’t continue. He couldn’t shift his feet. He was involuntarily a statue.

The screams were intensifying, and if he didn’t reach him in time—Cas didn’t want to think of that option.

_Dean!_

Cas could see him now. He was strung up with blood running like rivers from his shredded body. There were obvious broken limbs that were adorned with nails, needles, and meat hooks. Alistair hovered in front of Dean with a wicked grin lifting at the corners of his mouth. 

_Oh, dear me_ , Alistair said. _Thought you could save your precious human, Castiel?_

Castiel could only wish to smite the evil soul as he held his gaze in a glower of false strength. All he wanted to do was cry out or die as he witnessed Dean’s mangled body. He was so close, but was unable. 

Alistair’s grin broke into maniacal laughter. He gripped Dean’s jaw and forced him to look at Castiel. 

_Don’t you want to see your knight in shining armor, Dean-o? Look who’s here to rescue you. Castiel, a broken angel. No, not even an angel. A human, Dean. A human who can’t save you. He can’t save you anymore._

_Cas…_ Dean breathed. His green eyes were empty as he looked towards him. 

_What shall I carve into him next, Castiel?_ Alistair gloated dropping his grip from Dean. _‘Righteous Man’ maybe?_

Cas looked down, trying to hide his immense pain.

 _Please, stop this_ , Castiel begged. 

_Oh, no, no, no, Castiel, no, I won’t. I’m just getting started._

A piercing scream ripped through Castiel’s heart as Alistair began carving into Dean’s chest. He tore jagged seams into his skin. Each incision stimulated a fearsome cry from Dean’s throat. His eyes were glistening with phantom tears that he tried to keep back in defiance. Dean’s whole body quaked and trembled from the inconsistent pain.

 _Stop_ , Castiel sobbed, but Alistair continued. 

_There_ , he prided. _All done._

The words stared accusingly at Castiel. 

_**You’re Too Late, Castiel** _

Then, Alistair’s quick hand drove the blade deep into Dean’s heart.

\--

“No!” Castiel screamed in his sleep. “Dean! No!”

His shoulders were being shaken. Panicked, Cas’ blue eyes bolted open and his hands swatted at whatever was touching him.

“No! Stop!” He begged as tears rolled down his face. His shoulders were being gripped again. 

“Cas! Hey, hey, it’s me, Dean,” he cooed. “Cas, it’s me.”

His eyes looked over Dean for reassurance, and he pushed himself away from Dean. His hands rushed to his eyes and wiped them dry.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel muttered as he bowed his head in shame.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m right here,” Dean urged gently. He extended a hand out towards Castiel. “Come here.”

Warily, Cas reached forward; then, he became enveloped in a tight embrace. Dean was breathing into his dark hair as his arms looped around his back pressing Cas close to his chest. Hearing his heartbeat, Castiel’s dream became a false memory. 

“You’re okay, Cas. Everything is fine,” Dean insisted sweetly. He created a soft swaying motion to help comfort him.

Parting, Dean held up the small, folded towel.

“I have something for you, actually, to stop the nightmares,” Dean whispered handing the rag over. “But don’t make fun of it. I made it.”

“You made me something?” Cas breathed. 

“Uh, yeah. Open it.”

Cas’ gaze fell to the tattered fabric and his hands began to carefully unfold it. As he peered at the object his eyes widened in disbelief. Tenderly, Cas stroked the dark, iridescent feathers hanging from the small, circular wreath. 

“Dean?” Cas exhaled. “Are these my feathers?”

Dean raised an arm to scratch the back of his head in uncertainty. “Yeah, Cas. I’ve had them for a while. I used to pick them up when you’d mojo back to Heaven.”

Caressing the feathers, Castiel felt a wave of adoration for Dean. “Thank you, Dean. I love it.” His eyes trailed up the feathers and noticed familiar shells hanging from the circle as well. “These are the shells from our hunt in Georgia two weeks ago. Wow. This is amazing.” 

His fingers traced the strings and lingered on a small disk attached to the center of the interlocking strings. “What is this?” 

“It’s a button from one of my shirts,” Dean mumbled looking away from Cas in embarrassment. “I don’t own any beads. I’m not Martha Stewart.”

Cas smiled even though he didn’t know who she was. 

Dean cleared his throat. “So, it’s a dream catcher, Cas. The idea is that only good dreams can pass through that little hole,” Dean pointed, “there. And the nightmares get tangled in the spider’s web.” He moved his finger over the pale button, “That’s the spider.”

Nodding his head in understanding, Cas lifted the dream catcher to admire it in whole. “It’s beautiful, Dean. Where should I hang it?”

“You should hang it above your bed.” Dean fished out a planted tack from his shirt pocket. “Here. Have at it.”

Eagerly, Cas pinned it to his wall. Both Dean and Cas sat back to admire it. Warmly, Dean grasped Castiel’s hand and convinced himself it was now or never.

“Cas,” Dean muttered softly. Blue eyes met green as Dean maneuvered himself to face Cas. He cautiously began to caress Cas’ cheek. “I want you to feel safe here. It’s important to me that you stay, Cas. I’m so scared that one day I’ll wake up, and you’ll be gone.”

His head tilted into the touch, and Castiel sighed Dean’s name. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Resting their foreheads together, Dean’s lips quivered in desperation for Cas. Feeling the tension, Cas lifted his head to meet Dean halfway. They kissed tentatively which quickly turned into a frantic need for more. Dean’s tongue traced Castiel’s lower lip requesting entrance. They became a mess of tongues, teeth, and lips; and soon after, they were sprawled across the bed. Straddling Cas’ hips, Dean pressed kisses along his jawline and led down to his neck.

“Is this okay?” Dean asked between each contact. His hands began teasing Cas’ stomach from underneath his t-shirt while Cas’ fingers dug into Dean’s lower back.

“Definitely,” Castiel sighed. He lifted his hips causing Dean to moan. 

Within seconds, Dean had peeled the shirt off of Castiel and thrown it aside. He raised his arms so Cas could shimmy Dean’s t-shirt up his sides, and toss it to join the other shirt on the floor. Quickly, Dean dropped down to kiss Cas gently. 

“Cas, you have to tell me to stop, or I’m going to wreck you.”

Cas smiled and his dark eyes spoke for him. Dean growled in response.

“Don’t move,” he ordered as he planted scattered kisses down Cas’ torso. “I’ll be right back.”

Whining when Dean rose from him, Cas itched to pull his constraining boxers off. 

“Don’t. Move,” Dean growled and Cas obeyed. Then Dean left and returned within seconds. Pulling the door shut, Dean tossed a small bottle onto the bed. Losing his jeans between the door and Castiel, he returned to his position over Cas. 

“Where were we?” Dean inquired and Cas’ body blushed beneath his touch.

“Dean,” Cas begged, “Just wreck me already.”

Rolling his hips down, Dean felt their erections between their boxers. 

“Boxers off, now,” Dean breathed as he pulled at Cas’ elastic. Gladly, Cas lifted his hips and Dean slid his underwear off easily to reveal Cas’ cock. 

“You too, Dean.”

Smirking, Dean grasped the base of Cas’ dick and made short strokes teasing moans from Castiel. “We’ll get there.”

Reaching to the far side of the bed, Dean grabbed the container of lube and squeezed some onto his hands. He rubbed it between his fingers; then, slid one hand around Cas’ cock. Building a slow, steady rhythm, Dean watched as Cas pushed his head back in pleasure. On the upward strokes, Dean began flicking his thumb over the slit that incited muffled gasps from the man beneath him.

“Dean, faster,” Cas moaned. His hips started to buck desperately into Dean’s hand. 

With Dean’s unoccupied hand, he pressed a finger at the entrance of Castiel. His gaze surveyed Cas’ response. Dean didn’t want to push Cas too far, so he just circled the small, pink hole. 

Dean continued his strokes on Cas’ cock and leaned down to press kisses on his jaw. He swirled the finger at Cas’ entrance and pressed in to the first knuckle.

“Is this okay, Cas?” Dean whispered. “You have to let me know if you want to stop.”

“Dean, just fuck me already!” Cas whimpered beneath him. Dean felt his cock twitch at the command. 

Temporarily removing his hands from Cas, he removed his boxers and tossed them aside. Then, Dean continued to stroke Cas’ dick lightly as he began opening Cas’ up.

With one lubed finger, Dean pressed slowly into Cas as his strokes on his dick remained steady. Moaning, Cas pushed deeper onto Dean’s finger inviting him in.

“More, Dean.”

Carefully, Dean added another digit and began scissoring him open. Slowing his hands on Cas’ cock, Dean focused on safely stretching him open. Within minutes, he was able to add a third finger and twist them inside of Cas.

“Oh!” Castiel groaned as Dean’s fingers hooked inside him. His body tensed then stilled again waiting for movement. Dean happily obliged. 

“Dean,” he gasped, “Dean, come on, I’m not going to last much longer.”

Hesitantly, Dean withdrew his thrusting fingers from Cas’ hole and hovered over him. 

“You’re sure about this, Cas?” Dean asked once more.

Shaking and nodding, Cas pulled Dean down for another kiss. “Yes.”

With that, Dean slicked himself with the remaining lube on his hands and pushed ever so slowly and gently into Cas. Each inch stretched him farther than his fingers had prepared.

“You’re so tight,” Dean groaned. Once Cas’ hole was full of Dean, he returned a sliding hand over Cas’ dick. “Ready?”

Cas moaned in response.

Setting a new rhythm, Dean jerked Cas and thrust into him at a consistent pace. Dean hit Cas’ sweet spot and watched in awe as Cas writhed and moaned beneath him. He felt a twisting and began aiming for Cas’ prostate every thrust in hopes to reach the edge together. 

“Cas!” Dean hummed. 

Suddenly they were both shaking, moaning messes as Cas came in Dean’s hand and Dean released himself inside Cas. Keeping the rhythm steady, Dean attempted to prolong their orgasms. Moments later, Dean withdrew himself from Cas’ enticing body and placed a long, earnest kiss to Cas’ perfect lips. 

They both smiled at each other and continued planting chaste kisses wherever their lips met skin. 

“Well, I think I’m going to be dreaming of very different things, now,” Cas sighed.

Dean chuckled thoughtfully. “I sure hope so,” Dean enthused. “Let’s get cleaned up. There is some pretty damn good pie in the kitchen, Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Kudos and Comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
